


The Flower and The Flame

by Midgetgirl45



Category: Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury
Genre: Angst, Lost chapter, This was emotional to write, burned to death, clarisse and her story, did i edit, im not sorry, no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 00:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13019355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midgetgirl45/pseuds/Midgetgirl45
Summary: Telling the lost story of where Clarisse went





	The Flower and The Flame

Clarisse woke to the sound of buzzing. The pulsing electric lights above her were blinding. She quickly sat up in a panic, her tattered dress hugging her shoulders, as she tried to recall the days before.  
The white lights seemed to radiate all around her with unknown origins, making it seem like she was floating in an abyss. As her breath quickened, the click of a lock interrupted her thoughts as her head whipped to the source of the sound.  
A man with a tall stature walked into the room. His eyes roamed over Clarisse like an avalanche but quickly looked at her directly in the eyes. “Clarisse McClellan, seventeen and crazy, or so she says.” he stated mockingly his arms draped against his sides,” Would you care to tell me why you are here?”  
Clarisse took a deep breath contemplating the question and looked up determined. “Well, actually, I was counting on you to tell me that.” She smirked feeling her hands start shaking. She rapidly hid them under her thighs.  
Upon closer inspection, the man, had an odd set of features. Clarisse couldn’t quite add up any of his story as she could so easily with others. At first, he seemed stern with a worry-line crossing over his forehead but, with each passing minute she could see more lines. The subtle laugh lines, his pink undertones, and his eyes. His eyes were the most complex part about him. They swam with knowledge and wisdom at to what the world might hold but on the contrary they held a child-like innocence in them Clarisse hoped would never be torn away.   
The man sulked around the room dragging his hands along the wall until he stopped and placed his hands inside his pocket. He took out a picture the size of a stamp and shoved it into her hands.   
She let out a gasp of shock as she traced the outline of the face that the picture held. “Montag.”, she whispered almost to herself, “Oh, how is he? Is he still taking walks? Oh I shall give him a dandelion once I return.”  
The man giggled, a peculiar sound for such a deep voiced man. His eyes twinkled with delight and Clarisse thought this was very peculiar seeming as she did nothing to provoke this reaction. He cackled and wiped at his face to try to cover up his glee. Clarisse only stared at him with growing confusion. The man stopped once more but one look at her face and he was laughing once again. She let out a nervous chuckle and as his laughs tapered to a close she looked at him with query.  
“I just find it hilarious that you truly believe that you will escape here. Let me tell you, I have seen your cancerous ways that have been growing and spreading in your town.”, his hands gripped the hem of his brown bomber jacket and fidgeted, “You refuse to follow the laws of this country and it is harming others. I have seen many die under the knowledge of books. I ask you this how many more will die at the mercy of these contradicting pages. Words upon words and all I know now is, evil influence is like a nicotine patch, you cannot help but absorb what sticks to you. You, Clarisse McClellan, are an evil influence and I must eradicate by any means necessary.  
Her heart thrummed against her chest as she took in what just happened. Her eyes swimming with anger and frustration filled with tears as she roared out. “You don’t know my life! Every day I have waited for change. For people to wake up and hear those damn planes not as some ambient sound but as the cries of our nation calling out to be heard. Lost historians will wonder what became of this society and let me tell you. Those people out there, they aren’t living they are merely surviving. Cold lifeless bodies waiting to be fueled with fire in their veins, so they can feel once more.”  
A loud crack resonated throughout the room as she gripped her cheek in reflex. Her tear stained cheek now turning a dark shade of red as the man turned red. His eyes were pleading, and he took a step forward, his hands trembling as he grabbed her arm and dragged her down a series of hallways all flashing by too fast for her to take in. With a grunt he threw her into a room.   
The first thing she noticed was that these lights ere not as bright and didn’t seem as if they were trying to cut her skin. She moved her hair out of her eyes and looked around, it was the most elaborate library she had ever seen. Books were piled everywhere, and her eyes swelled with tears about how many had been saved. Books of all shapes and sizes were put haphazardly on wooden bookshelves. The smell of pine rushed into her mind as she pictured walking through a forest of books. She walked forward and went to run her hands along the spines of the books but was stopped by the man with a somber look on his face.  
“These books are the very thing that has ripped our nation apart before.” He let out a breath and looked around before continuing. “All of these pages, these stories contradict each other in some way or another. People gathered too many opinions and wars were held in the name of knowledge. So, we kept these books here to remind us of the hatred they fill within us.”  
“Can I read any of them?” she queried.  
He gave her a stern look before sating through a clenched jaw, “Absolutely not.”

Clarisse rubbed the sleepiness from the night before out of her eyes. She looked around before feeling rough hands grab at her arms. She turned around to see the man from the day before only this time melancholia was draped over his face. He refused to look her in the eyes and it was then she realized a burn mark scaling down his neck onto his shoulder. It blistering burn had to be new which led her to believe he was a fireman, or rather is.   
They entered an all-white room with a cylindrical glass box in the center. Her lithe feet traveled over to the chair in the corner as the man started messing with wires and medical supplies, occasionally looking over at her with pity.   
She furrowed her eyebrow and spit out, curiosity lining her voice, “May I ask your name? I find it fitting that we both know each other’s names if I am to be acquainted with you.”  
“Beatty.” He said without missing a beat. His eyes darted away, and he sniffed, returning to his work at the table. His long fingers glided over the instruments as if he was experienced. Every curve of a blade, every point, and measurement of a needle was memorized, and placed in its correct order. “Clarisse what if I told you today was the last day you would see. What would you do?” Beatty’s hopeful smile shined through, but his eyes showed no mirth.  
Her breath caught in her throat and suddenly she knew why she was here. This was it this is when she would die. She turned to Beatty with a fearful look etched upon her face. She replied, speaking each word thoughtfully, “I guess I would, um, cherish every moment of the day and take it all in.”  
He calmed slightly and ran his fingers through his unkept hair, “I think I will embrace death. Meet it head on. I’ve never been on to back down from a challenge.” He stated matter-of-factly. He stepped forward with lithe and looked at Clarisse studying her face before shuffling through a bag and handing her a light blue cotton hospital gown. “Change.” He pointed to a door in the corner of room.   
She walked in looking at herself in the rectangular mirror. Her legs had tiny white scratches from playing outside as a child and freckles were splattered across her face. Her uncle had always called them angle kisses because you can only really see them up close. She ran her hands up her arms and stopped at the shoulders taking a deep breath. She changed into the new gown and did a twirl for her own amusement. She gave one last shaky grim smile into the mirror and exited the room only to have Beatty staring at the cylindrical tank with knowing eyes.  
She cleared her throat and Beatty was pulled out of his trance. “I need you to step in here, please.” The latter part of the sentence said in a mumble but, Clarisse obliged. “I am truly sorry for what is going to happen next, but it is the books that have caused this maniacal terror in our society and I must remedy this.” His voice became husky as he tried to hold back tears.  
She looked at him and smiled contentedly. “I know.” She replied softly, “And I forgive you.”   
Beatty saw her eyes swimming with so many thoughts he wanted to unlock but he sufficed with asking only one question. “Are you happy?”  
Clarisse smirked remembering the time she asked Montag that exact question. At first, she wanted to shout and scream that yeas she was happy. In all honesty, she was not happy. She had everything and, yet her life was empty of meaning. The very hole she wanted to fill with words she needed to fill with people. Words shared between people are better said than alone. So, with the strongest voice she could muster she responded. “No, and I’m okay with that.”  
Beatty held back a choked sob and pushed a button to close the doors to the box. Clarisse looked at him not with anger and not with pity but with love and understanding. “My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge; because you have rejected knowledge, I reject you from being a priest to me. And since you have forgotten the law of your God, I also will forget your children.” She recited eloquently and through sobs Beatty switched the lever.   
The only thing he ever knew was fire. Fire was warm. Fire burned. Most importantly fire solved his problems. It stopped what he could never understand. A simple solution for a complex problem.  
Screams echoed throughout the halls as fire engulfed her body. The hot flames tore at her skin and ripped it away. Every inch of her body was flaring in agonizing pain and tears were streaming down her face as she writhed and slammed against the wall. Layers of her skin pulled, and the gown stuck to her skin.  
Beatty was sobbing and shaking, unable to move he whispered to himself over and over, “I’m sorry”, as if it were a mantra. All at once the screaming stopped and all the could be heard as Beatty ran out of the room and slammed himself into and empty room. “I’m done! I want nothing more.” He started shaking uncontrollably and his body was wracked with sobs as his knees buckled, he fell to the ground harshly.   
Images of all the people who have burned under his eyes flashed through his mind and their screams echoed. He ripped and pulled on his hair wanting it all to go away. Screaming he curled in on himself and whispered to nobody, I’m sorry. His heartbeat quickened and suddenly his mind was blank. He knew what he had to do. If books were to exist in this world then he would not be here with them. He was leaving this world soon and he was going to take Montag down with him. Books have no place in this world. They never have and never will.  
He leaned against the wall and started formulating his plan about how you would bring an end to the terror he called his life.


End file.
